


Seven First Kisses

by hershpa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, some underage but nothing serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hershpa/pseuds/hershpa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were eight and twelve respectively the first time Sam kissed Dean. It wasn’t really much of a kiss, just a peck on the lips to see what would happen. He was young and curious and he didn’t have a huge selection of people to kiss, so he made do. He did it just to try it. It was Sam’s first. Dean’s too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven First Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from my tumblr.

They were eight and twelve respectively the first time Sam kissed Dean. It wasn’t really much of a kiss, just a peck on the lips to see what would happen. He was young and curious and he didn’t have a huge selection of people to kiss, so he made do. He did it just to try it. It was Sam’s first. Dean’s too.

Sam was 12 the second time. Dean was 16. This one wasn’t much of a kiss, either, mostly Sam pressing his lips to Dean’s and standing stock-still for about 40 seconds before either of them really figured out what was happening. By now, Dean had kissed four girls and hit second base with two. Sam still hadn’t talked to a girl for longer than 6 minutes at a time. He just got a little stir-crazy was all. They both agreed it had been a mistake and moved on. Dean had sex with a girl for the first time a week later. Sam heard all about it the next day.

The third and fourth times, Sam was 15 and Dean was 19. First, Sam tried to make Dean believe that Sam’s feelings for him were more than platonic. Dean wasn’t convinced. Sam kissed him to prove it. Dean stopped him, brushed it off as hormones and forgot about it. And then, two weeks later, Sam tried again and kissed him a little harder and Dean only registered that hey, Sam’s a kid, he’s confused, he’ll get over it. He made a point to leave Sam alone more often to give him a little space. A week after that fourth kiss, Sam met a girl at the library. A few days after that, she kissed him. He forgot about kissing Dean.

There was almost another kiss after the fourth, but it never really made it past accidental-brush-of-lips territory, and both of them counted it off their lists. But that one might have been the game changer. It got them thinking, planted the idea in their heads. Fourth-and-a-half, Sam was 16, Dean was 20.

The fifth time, Sam was 17, Dean was 22, and Dad was out of town for three weeks. Sam’s birthday was approaching, the temperature outside was finally creeping up, and Dean figured 17-almost-18 was old enough to have a little fun. They were both stressed to hell and Dad was gone, so why the hell not have a drink? Dean cracked into Dad’s liquor and made damn sure he wouldn’t remember that night. Sam started feeling a little woozy after his first beer, but managed to talk a drunk-Dean into three more and a shot of whiskey, just to try it. In the morning, Sam had a hazy memory of straddling his brother’s lap and sucking his tongue. Dean definitely didn’t. All that really mattered was that both of them woke up with their clothes still on straight and clean. Even if they did wake up in the same bed. Especially if there was a dark purple bruise on Sam’s throat that Dean didn’t want to think about.

Their sixth kiss was the night Sam left for Stanford. It was rough and angry, just a fuck-you-goodbye that set the mood for the next four years. For four years after, it was Dean’s last memory of his brother. And that pissed him right off because you know what? He couldn’t really tell people that he was so pissed all the time because his baby brother stuck his tongue down his throat right before he left, now could he? So he dealt with it the only ways he knew how: alcohol and women. Sam, on the other hand, held onto that last kiss. It scared him to hell and he almost hoped Dean had forgotten it, but he held onto it anyway. It was all he really had. Then he met this girl named Jess, and she slowly took its place. Dean never did meet a girl like Jess to get him over it. He still remembered that kiss. It still pissed him off.

The seventh time, it was Dean who kissed Sam. It was after Stanford, after Jess. Sam was still grieving and Dean hated himself for doing it, but if there was ever one thing he had to do, it was this. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t planned and it wasn’t very good, but it was a kiss and it was Sam and that was all that mattered. It took four years without Sam for Dean to figure out that anything without Sam was shit. And it took four years of shit for Dean to figure out that the sloppy, angry kiss Sam had shoved on him right before he left was still a kiss. And when he finally sorted through his shit and decided to return that kiss – four years late, in a crap motel, both of them beaten bloody – he only hoped to God that Sam hadn’t changed his mind. Lucky for Dean, he hadn’t.

After that seventh kiss, they kind of lost track. But they made it well over a hundred in the nights after.

Two weeks after that, there were more than kisses to count.


End file.
